


Give The Pain (To Yesterday)

by ninwrites



Series: Shadowhunters Coda Scenes [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Aftermath, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Coda, Episode: s02e12 You Are Not Your Own, M/M, Recovery, Spoilers, mostly fits canon, post 2x12, until 2x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 17:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninwrites/pseuds/ninwrites
Summary: A coda fic to 2x12.--He needs his heart to stop pounding inside his chest, needs the overwhelming ache in his gut, in his heart, in his head to just leave, needs his lungs to loosen up enough to breathe without it hurting.Magnus deals with the aftermath of his body-swap with Valentine, and Alec struggles to help the man he loves without doing any more damage.





	Give The Pain (To Yesterday)

**Author's Note:**

> there's a fair bit of controversy for this episode. this coda fic is not related to that. 
> 
> this fic is me compiling my thoughts and projecting them into a study of Magnus and Alec and how they orbit aroud each other, and how they might do so after the events of 2x12. this is mostly canon up until 2x13 because this shadowhunter/downworlder tension will likely contradict what I've written.
> 
> (this was written + edited in four hours so any mistakes or whatnot are all mine, and apologised in advance for -- this is also the first coda I have ever written...)
> 
> title from 'wake up with me' by Gabrielle Aplin

Alec has felt guilt before, he'd lived his prominent teenage years with it wrapped around him like a blanket, but he's never felt anything like the sick, oily darkness he does right now.

He'd almost killed Magnus. He had strapped Magnus into a chair and been a fleeting second away from watching him _die_ in the body of a homicidal maniac, because he hadn't believed him, because he'd thought it had just been another of one Valentine's cruel tricks.

Now that he thinks over it, he can't believe he didn't figure it out. Magnus' weird reaction to his offer after the summoning of Azazel, his terse tone on the phone, in person, his rush to get Alec out of the apartment - Alec had asked if something was wrong, and there _had been._

And then, in the cell, where Valentine - where _Magnus_ reminded him of the _omamori_ charm and Tokyo and the terrace, details so intimate that only Magnus could have known them and _still_ Alec hadn't believed it!

He feels like throwing up, and probably would, if he could do it somewhere other than Magnus' rug. It's oddly familiar, and under better circumstances a little nostalgic, reminiscient of when he'd cleaned Luke's blood off Magnus' couch, back before Alec really knew Magnus, back before - back before everything had changed.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

The glass makes a chilling clinking sound in the metal bucket, his arms prickling with the phantom sting of a thousand needles. He feels sick, but he can't leave, partially because he doesn't feel comfortable leaving Magnus alone after all he'd been through, and partially because there's a nagging part of him that's urging him not to go. His instincts have rarely been wrong, they'd been a key component in sending Azazel back to the Hell realm he belongs in, and there's a poignant ache in the center of his chest every time he glances at Magnus.

There's nothing he can do, he can't turn back time or change what happened, and at the moment, Magnus is too fragile and broken to really talk about it. Memories he'd been suppressing for centuries brought to the forefront of his mind, agonising and relentless.

He wants to help, but he doesn't know how, and he gets the feeling there isn't really anything that would work, anyway.

So he's cleaning, picking up the glass shards scattered around Magnus' apartment, the broken potion bottles and spilled books and the scarf discarded by the front door, straightening out the mess that Valentine's rampage had left behind.

Anything to say _sorry_ and _I love you_ and _I'm here for you_. Anything to even slightly ease the pain that Magnus is suffering through.

 

* * *

 

The New York City landscape is glittering with blinking lights like camera flashes and a bustling noise that speaks towards the 'never sleeps' aura it's famous for. Magnus had moved to New York what feels like forever ago, escaping heartbreak and searching for a new start, in a fresh, bustling country.

There's just something about it that calls to him, always has, and it's part of why he's stayed for so long. He's glad, of course, because a lot of wonderful things have happened, but at times like this the dark moments cloud the happier memories.

He's up on the roof, leaning forward with his hands wrapped around the railing, knuckles white. There's a persistent noise in the back of his mind, a low ringing like the aftershock of an explosion, and he could probably get rid of it, were the last of his magic reserves not being spent on keeping his torturous memories at bay, and the glamour safe over his eyes.

He knows that he could show Alec his real eyes, his unglamoured eyes, and Alec wouldn't be fazed - he's surprisingly enthusiastic about them - but his glamour provides a wall between what can be seen and what is truly there, and his emotions are too raw to be shining like beacons.

He escaped up here, because he can't stand the hopelessness in Alec's eyes everytime he glances Magnus' way, and he's at a loss as to what he even wants. His instinct is to be left alone, to lock himself away from the world and process things at his own rate, but he doesn't want to kick Alec out. He's never had anyone who _cares_ as deeply and strongly as Alec does. Anyone else would have likely made a run for it a long time before now, and they certainly wouldn't still be here, hovering around the edges to not cross any lines but aching to help all the same.

There's a lot of things that Magnus needs to do. He needs to scour his apartment and make sure that Valentine hasn't destroyed or stolen anything, he needs to rearrange everything that has moved back to it's proper place, because otherwise he won't be able to find what he requires when he needs it most. He definitely needs to have a shower, to wash the lingering crawl of Valentine's presence, both inside and outside of his body, and he needs to sleep, to replenish the energy he's lost.

He needs his heart to stop pounding inside his chest, needs the overwhelming ache in his gut, in his heart, in his head to just _leave_ , needs his lungs to loosen up enough to breathe without it hurting. He needs to go back forty-eight hours and stop himself from ever summoning that bastard Azazel.

All things considered, he supposes, stroking a painted finger along the railing, it could have gone a lot worse. Azazel knows his past, his history, his birthright. Azazel could have torn him down right where he stood outside that pentagram, could have severed every relationship he'd built connected to that Institute - the son of a Prince of Hell, surely wouldn't be invited back to fix wards in the Institute, and wouldn't, he imagines, be worthy of Alec Lightwood's love.

_Alec._

He can't forget the way Alec had looked at him, when he'd been trapped inside of Valentine's body, eyes dark and furious, and behind that _hurt_ , at the idea that Valentine would use his relationship against him. Alec had, through no fault of his own, believed that Valentine was Valentine, and reacted, on reflection, quite appropriately. Magnus had been desperate, flinging memories at him, and for a flicker there he genuinely thinks that Alec believed him.

But he'd seen Valentine standing before him, the man who'd been responsible for the slaughter of hundreds of Downworlders, plenty of fellow Shadowhunters, the man who'd manipulated and tortured his _parabatai_ for an entire decade under the rouse of being his father.

Magnus doesn't blame Alec - the worst part about that moment hadn't been Alec not believing him, part of him had expected that ... it was the way Alec looked at him like he was a _monster._

Magnus had hoped Alec would never look at him like that.

He knows, that if Alec could, he would take it back, and he appreciates the concern that Alec is practically exuding - but he's been torn open, his mind ripped apart, and the pain and memories are raw and existential.

He resigns himself to the roof, where the air is cold and clear and he can fool himself into thinking that nothing is wrong, at least for a fleeting moment.

 

* * *

 

Alec is tidying up his bookshelf, when Magnus returns downstairs. He hesitates, hand wrapped around the doorframe, tight enough to press splinters into the soft flesh of his palm.

He's caught, between inner and outer turmoil, his breath shaky between clenched teeth. He wants the day to end, wants it all to end - not in the suicidal way, in the 'spend a couple of decades on a different continent' way. He can't, he knows he can't, and if he wasn't feeling this twisted he wouldn't be considering it. But part of him, a part that is vocal and strong, _wants to._

"Magnus?"

Magnus blinks, returning his attention to the present, to reality, to the tall man with the hunched shoulders a few feet away. Alec's standing the way he used to, before they really knew each other, before he was comfortable with himself, back curved and shoulders rolled forward as though by doing so he'll be able to shrink himself down to an unimposing size.

It tugs at a hollow part of Magnus he'd almost forgetten existed.

"I, uh-" Alec gestures jerkily towards the bookshelves. "I was just, clearing up, for you. I didn't think you'd really want to, with, well..." He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. "Sorry."

Magnus shakes his head, fond and a little weary. "You don't have to apologise," He says, not really sure to what he's implying. "It's very considerate of you." He glances up at Alec through hooded lids. "Thank you."

Alec nods, a curt and stoic movement. He waits, watching, his mind likely ticking away with quiet thoughts, and Magnus just stands there, unable to find the motivation to even move.

He's just so _tired._

"I should, probably be going," Alec says, soft and reluctant. "You need your rest, and I doubt you want me here, taking up space and ... and bothering you."

He stares, pain flashing behind the drowning concern in his hazel eyes, and then turns on his heel, to leave Magnus alone like he thinks Magnus needs. It's only when faced with the prospect of Alec leaving that Magnus discovers he really doesn't want to be alone.

"Alexander," He calls out, voice strained. He swallows past the lump in his throat, thumb and forefinger rubbing together anxiously. "I don't-" He cuts himself off, the words sticking to the roof of his mouth. "Please." He whispers. " _Please_. Stay."

The sound of his own heartbeat reverberates in his ears, thudding painfully, as Alec turns, the wait agonisingly slow. His eyes are wide and hesitant, skittish like a newborn deer.

"Okay," He blinks, tongue poking out to sweep along his bottom lip. "Okay. If - if that's what you want."

Magnus nods, gaze flicking down. "It is."

"Then I'll stay."

 

* * *

 

Magnus is in the shower, the vibrating sound of shaking pipes roaring overhead, and Alec can't stop glancing towards the door that seperates the main room from the bedroom, teeth pressed into his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood.

It's bitter and metallic and a sharp reminder of what he almost lost.

Magnus had asked him to stay, voice cracked and heartbroken, and Alec had felt a shatter behind his ribcage. He feels _hopeless_ , and he hates it, hates it with a fiery passion, which only makes him feel selfish, for thinking of his own feelings when Magnus is one push from breaking point, and then he's back to where he was at the start. Hopeless with no way to fix it.

Alec sighs, and fluffs up the pillows on the couch. He'd found a blanket out on the terrace, long and warm and, well, pink, but it's nothing important in the light of recent events. It should keep him warm, which is it's entire purpose, and that's all he's concerned with.

Magnus had asked him to stay, and stay Alec will. But Magnus had not asked for touch, or for Alec to invade the space he so clearly needs, and after everything Alec has done, he's not about to disrespect Magnus by assuming everything is as it was, when it certainly isn't.

Besides, the couch is long, and mostly comfortable. And if his feet hang over the edge, then it's a minor discomfort, and nothing he can't handle. He's a Shadowhunter, a soldier, and he's slept in far worse conditions than this.

He's settled himself against the pillows, neck propped on the arm of the couch, legs hanging over the end, when he hears the shower shut off. Comfortable in the knowledge that Magnus is alive, if not okay, and in his own body and a few safe feet away, he shuffles into as comfortable a position as he can manage, and closes his eyes.

He opens them again sharply when he feels a presence close to him. In a snap move he's sat up, hand going to the seraph blade he'd tucked beneath the coffee table, prepared for danger before he's even asserted it.

The danger it seems comes only from him.

"Alec?" Magnus's gaze doesn't move from Alec's. He's wrapped in a ink-black robe, hair soft and loose around his face, hands twitching and clutched in front of him. "What are you doing?"

Alec slowly returns his blade to where he'd retrieved it, free hand clutching at the blanket covering him. "I'm - well, I was, sleeping?"

Magnus frowns, thumb stroking the tie of his robe, almost absently. "I was hoping-" He pauses, then shakes his head. "Nevermind."

Alec tugs at the blanket, fingers caught in the grooves of the knitted wool. "I didn't want to intrude." He admits. He hates that they're cautious around each other, but understands the necessity. Something important has been strained tonight, and only time and care will strengthen it again.

If he'd learnt anything from the mess with Jace and their bond before...

"You're not intruding," Magnus assures him, glancing back into the bedroom. His eyes are shining, with hope and something darker, and Alec finds himself standing upright before he'd even made the decision.

"You're sure..." Alec inhales deeply. He needs to be the strong one here, for Magnus. If Magnus needs someone to lean on, Alec will gladly be that someone. "Okay."

Magnus softens at that word alone, a hesitant smile striking hope like a chord in Alec's chest. "Okay," He whispers, tucking a slip of hair behind his ear. "Okay."

He turns, walking back into the bedroom, and Alec follows, a respectful distance behind. He strips down slowly, folding his jacket, pants and shirt into a tight pile off to the side, his boots left by the front door before he'd set up the couch. Magnus is already in bed by the time Alec is down to his underwear, head poking above silk red sheets and a red and gold comforter. He's watching Alec, tired eyes blinking slowly, and Alec feels wound up inside, like a cord twisted too tightly. He halts, hand rubbing over his stomach, over the _Awareness_ rune on his ribs.

The irony isn't lost on him - he's felt a lot of hate towards his own kind, but the invention of an actual _Agony_ rune is still something he's coming to grips with. It isn't something talked about, a lot, one of the Clave's callous tricks, and he's never been privy to it's use before; now, he can't imagine any point in it.

Torture is surely capable without a rune to drag up buried memories, and he's starting to think that his people need to learn how to get information without actually _dragging it out_ of someone. He understands their desire to get the Mortal Cup back, but after seeing what it had done to Magnus...

Magnus, who's still watching him, like he's waiting for the thread to snap and everything to crumble down around them.

Alec pulls back the silk sheets and heavy comforter, remembering a night just a few days before, where he and Magnus had pressed together, close and warm, and just _talked_ until their eyelids drooped and words slurred into incoherent noises. When he climbs in, he makes sure to keep all of his limbs tucked tightly against his body, so that no part of him is unintentionally touching Magnus.

"Thank you for staying," Magnus whispers. He's lying on his side, hand tucked beneath his head.

Alec glances at him, and shrugs. It wasn't really a question for him. Magnus wanted him here, so here he is.

Magnus exhales a soft laugh, and though it's a little forced, it is, Alec thinks, a good sign. "You were going to sleep on the couch, for me." Magnus states in wonderment. "I can't believe it."

Alec notes the shadows beneath Magnus' eyes, the tight twist to the corners of his mouth, the lines creasing his forehead, like the stress of the day has physically aged him.

"I would do anything for you." He admits, softly.

Magnus' lips press together tightly, but something lighter crosses his eyes. He shuffles, turning so he's more comfortable, and then his hand is reaching out, fingers brushing lightly against Alec's. Alec just lies there, still with baited breath, letting Magnus do what he wishes, letting Magnus set the boundaries.

"You'll never have to sleep on the couch," Magnus states, fingers tangled loosely with Alec's. "Not so long as you're here. It's far too small for you."

"What if," Alec hesitates, not wanting to cross any invisible lines. There's such thing as _too far_ and he doesn't want to acquaint himself with it. "What if, we have a fight?" He asks, rolling so he's facing Magnus without compromising their interlocked hands.

"One of my personal rules within a relationship," Magnus exhales slowly. "Is to never go to bed angry. Any fight can surely be resolved before sleep, otherwise it just bubbles and festers beneath the surface, and the end result is always explosive and never pretty."

"That makes sense," Alec agrees.

He and Jace used to spar to get out their anger with each other - something about facing the person you have a problem with, and point a blade to their chest, really calmed them down. Before Clary had entered their life, they'd never had a fight that had lasted longer than a day.

"Sleep is calling to me rather sweetly, Alexander." Magnus mumbles, his lids drooping. Keeping them open seems to be a struggle, so Alec strokes his thumb along the back of Magnus' hand, just once, a gesture of comfort and reassurance, for the both of them.

"Then sleep," He whispers, even as Magnus buries himself further into the warmth of his bed. "I'll still be here when you wake."

"Good," Magnus mumbles, and then he's lost to the enticing whisper of slumber.

 

\--

 

If he's struck with nightmares in the middle of the night, of a gut-wrenching pain that spreads like wildfire, and calls for his _mama_ with tortured yearning, Alec doesn't mention it. He just curls Magnus closer to him, arms wrapped around him protectively and rocks him as fear shakes Magnus' bones.

It will take Magnus longer than a night to get over what had happened to him, but he won't face the journey alone.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to let me know what you thought, but please keep it respectful? this world already has enough hate, we don't need to add to it.
> 
> thank you for reading - [my tumblr](http://killjoyrow.tumblr.com) and [fandom side-blog](http://drugs-and-candy.tumblr.com)


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